


Team Oiji san

by Shally



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Bowling AU, Dick jokes oh my, Gen, HxHBB17, Just Meruem chilling with his two grandpas, Just cracking open a cold one with the boys at the local sketch bowling alley, Nettys terrible sense of humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-08 14:03:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11083101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shally/pseuds/Shally
Summary: A tale in which no one thought it was a good idea, and no one had taken netero seriously when he had suggested it. And yet, here Netero was, asking two very specific, very important people for a small favour. Now, it was common sense that having a Zoldyck involved in anything was setting yourself up for trouble, and by adding in a king with unstoppable power? That was just asking for another chimera disaster to happen. But still, by some freak chance, meruem and Zeno decided to accept the invitation to join Nettys bowling team, and now, here they were, in matching gear, and ugly shoes, with their first game coming up this Sunday."So what’s our group name?""Team Netero""Definitely not."





	Team Oiji san

**Author's Note:**

> The bowling au you never needed but kinda wanted. My submission to the hxhbb17. :)

As most week nights are in Yorknew after four am, the city was silent. 

Cars seemed to crawl along once congested roads at random intervals. The busy music that came from one of many scandalous, yet notable nightclubs died with an ebb as bars were shut down. Nighttime workers, anywhere from dancers, to casino dealers, or even restaurant staff, finally made their way home with the goal of making a quick dinner and getting at least five hours of rest. 

Essentially, Yorknew and its normal inhabitants were asleep, with the exception of the low, the depraved, the criminal, the lonely and the tired who were still awake during these twilight hours. 

Zeno Zoldyck wondered which category he fell under. 

Currently Zeno was sitting in a worn down, old booth, the dull clinking of his spoon against a paper coffee cup being one of few sounds in the McYorknew fast food restaurant. The artificial buzzing is another note that chimes on its own rhythm, the neon blue sign against the glass shimmering for a few seconds, its sign reading open, before it eventually goes black. Zeno finds comfort in the small instances where the light reflects in his paper cup, giving the black liquid an electric glow. 

Part of Zeno wonders why he bothered ordering a coffee at all, seeing how he's confident he won't drink it. 

He wouldn't even be in this low budget, excuse of a restaurant if it wasn't for the fact that Netero had called him. Zeno had been forced from the comfort of his home to be in Yorknew in order to discuss some pressing matters….allegedly; Zeno wasn’t sure what Netero had in mind this time. Seeing how Netero had never had anything more than a lackluster track record when it came to keeping promises, handling serious matters, or doing anything in his life with any sort of structure, Zeno realized coming here was going to be the beginning of an eventual mistake. 

Zeno considered Netero to be more of a childhood rival than a childhood friend, with Zeno’s professionalism and practicality a distinct contrast when it came to Netero and his....exceptionalities. 

Netero had called Zeno out for jobs in the past, often when it had to do with finding corrupt hunters, or dealing with mobsters who were nothing more than mere toys to someone as skilled as the eldest Zoldyck. More recently Zeno had been asked to help out in the hellstorm that was the war in NGL, aka the largest and yet most covered up blunder by the hunter association to date. To think that Netero had almost died in what should have been an easy battle was baffling to most. Actually, Netero might have died, but Zeno was iffy on the details. 

Zeno preferred not to remember the freakish animal human hybrids he had encountered in NGL, nor the vest wearing demon they called King. 

Zeno recalls having his back coated in cold sweat as his nen had been submerged under that of another...someone who Zeno wasn't confident he could beat if it had come to a one on one fight. Quite frankly, it was no longer a matter of concern. The NGL incident had been months ago, and Zeno had retired for the summer to enjoy traveling. He also needed the break away from his family...sometimes their hysterics were too much even for Zeno to handle. Traveling from Padokia to Beilke had been enjoyable, but now Zeno was in Yorknew, a destination he’d rather not have on his list. Especially not here, alone, most likely the only patron in an establishment that hasn’t seen customers in months. 

Automatically Zeno assumed that this McYorknew was simply a cover for money laundering. How cheap and...boring. 

They crooks who owned the place could have at least hired decent staff who could pretend to do their jobs, rather than having thugs sit behind the counter cursing each other out as they waited for the next shift of fools to take their places. 

These idiots hadn't even served Zeno’s coffee hot. 

Drumming his fingers against the streaky plastic table, Zeno perks up as the door is pulled open, the clatter of a bell that's been smashed too many times within the frame rings dully as someone walks in, their aura filling the whole space as if it was theirs to own.

It was unsettling to feel such a presence, actually it was almost familiar, but Zeno doubted anyone could be more monstrous a person than Netero when he was...in one of his bad moods. 

Not bothering to look up, Zeno listened as the second individual to enter this dump made their way up to the counter. 

"I require...sustenance." The voice rings out, firm, and somewhat unsettling. 

"What kind of cryptic weirdo says sustenance...?" Zeno tsks, wrapping his hands around the cup, having removed the spoon. Definitely ice cold. Probably had been sitting in the pot since yesterday if he had to bet.

“....What?” Someone grumbles off, not having understood the demand. 

“I said I request nourishment from this establishment for the exchange of feminine currency.”

Zeno purses his lips, never having heard someone refer to their money as feminine, rather than just calling it Jennie. Zeno glances at his phone, sitting abandoned on the table, having yet to buzz with life with Netero’s confirmation that he was on his way. 

“We got foods and drinks, yea sure, whatever.” The man behind the counter gruffs out, “What ya want?”

After a moment of consideration, the man finally orders.

"My age qualifies me for a child’s meal...so I would like the beverage that is to be included to descend from the Malus domestica, and the meal to include two dozen McYorknew Nuggs. Yes…” The man slaps down a handful of coins onto the counter, “and please, no straw. I have taken the liberty of bringing my own.” 

“Who the hell…” Zeno whips his head around in mild disgust of having heard someone order twenty four chicken nuggets and...juice. 

A single glance at the short, green turtle looking creature was already too much to handle. Zeno felt his own nen spike at the shock of the smooth helmet like head, the hard skin around muscle and bone, and a long tail adorned with a gleaming spike at the end. The idiots behind the counter took no notice of the mans get up, thinking him to be another one of those underground weirdos who dressed like this for fun. 

...Could the king of the chimeras even be called a man?

Also. How was he here? Zeno was shocked that the nen user who had caused him to need a break from work was standing right here, only a few meters away, in his terrifying glory. Was Netero aware that his actions against the Ant King had failed? Was Yorknew aware that the most powerful nen user stood within their city and was casually ordering kids meals at lackluster, low budget fast food chains? Could this creature's appearance be part of the pressing matters Netero wanted to talk to Zeno about?

A box makes its way onto the counter, as well as a tall glass of orange juice, which causes Zeno’s nen to be drowned out almost instantly by a wave of pure malice.

“Is that everything?” The man yawns, ready to go back to doing nothing, rather than standing there and listening to a green child go off on another tangent. 

“I asked for juice from the offspring of Malus domestica not a hybrid beverage between Citrus maxima and Citrus reticulata! I demand to speak to this establishments’ Ruler instantly!” 

“Guy, this is McYorknew, not Yorknew King. Ain’t no Ruler here. Ya got yer food go sit your ass down man, what the hell?” 

Zeno almost feels bad for the idiot, but then he remembers his cold coffee, and decides maybe it’s better if the ant king just kills them all here. As long as Zeno was able to stay out of it he was more than happy to do so. 

The King flicks his tail in an act of annoyance, his hand clutching at the orange juice almost violently as his back hunches, almost as if he was holding himself back from such a rude, ill quipped reply. He gives the sever one of the nastiest glares, and the man shrivels back, having realized that it was getting hard to breath with all this tension. Even Zeno was starting to feel his hair stand up on edge as the Ant slowly turned his back on the server, staring down Zeno with a look of obvious recognition. A nugget shifts in the King's Kids Meal box and before either men could say a word the door to McYorknew is yanked open, with Netero finally rearing his ugly head. 

“Meruem, Zeno, you two better chill it before someone notices all this heated nen. Calm down, take a seat, we’re all friends here, no need to glare.” Netero beams, crossing his arms over a t-shirt that bore some kind of generic anime girl on it. Zeno squints, the words love live written on the piece of clothing in red cursive makes him think of his grandson...god...

“Netero.” Meruem, the king of what used to be a murderous race called the Chimera Ants, bows his head in almost a respectful manner. Meruem even had the courtesy to cut his nen off completely, and the relief that swallows Zeno as the air becomes cooler is immediately noticeable. 

Zeno shifts the cup uneasily against the table, turning to face the duo, realizing if he waited for Netero to start this inevitable conversation they might be here until the sun creeped back into the sky. Disgusting…

“Netero-” Zeno sits up straight, eyes narrowing. 

“Hey! Hold that thought!” Netero raises a finger and casually walks over to the counter, leaps over it, and ignores the grunts of disapproval from the idiots. They let Netero do what he wants, probably because Netero has finally managed to be amongst his own people. 

Zeno smirks at the thought and glances at Meruem, who is still standing in the middle of McYorknew, deep in thought, holding his orange juice up to his eyes for inspection. After a few minutes of silence, Netero leaps over the counter again, this time holding cups, a full pot of coffee, as well as a large bag filled with fries and breakfast sandwiches. 

“You gotta pay!” Someone shouts. 

“Your fire extinguisher hasn’t been replaced in three years, don’t make me call the Ministry of Health and Safety. They’ll shut you down in a heartbeat.” Netero dumps the bag onto the table and grabs Zeno’s coffee, bringing it to his nose and taking a whiff of how stale it smelled, “and at least try to serve coffee made the same day, amateurs.” 

Tossing the coffee into the trash, a new, scalding hot coffee is placed into Zeno’s unimpressed hands; the beverage is as black as his mood. A bottle of apple juice is pushed into Meruem’s hands, and suddenly his mood improves as he takes a seat across from Zeno. Netero makes a move to sit beside the green tyrant before spotting a large tail curled up on the booth, and opts to sit beside Zeno. 

“Better.” Netero nods his head, digging into the bag, both he and Meruem preparing to devour their meals. 

Zeno breaths slowly as Netero reaches across the table to grab ketchup, while Meruem’s tail moves like a whip and stabs into the table, a napkin stuck to the blade like spike attached to the appendage, before he brings it towards him and wipes the corners of his mouth. 

Having enough, Zeno brings the coffee to his lips and sips at it, grimacing, “Netero, pass me a sugar.”

“Oh yea, hold on.” He digs a hand into his pocket and pulls out three packets, dropping them into Zeno’s outstretched hand. 

For a moment it feels as if the three of them had known each other for years, and were currently sharing a mundane morning meal, if four am could be considered the morning for anyone. 

Zeno was almost willing to let this idiocy go on...almost. 

“Enlighten me. Why are we here?” Zeno takes one of Netero’s many hashbrowns, biting into it with more force than was needed. 

“That is an impressive question. Do any of us truly know why we are here?” Meruem mumbles around a mouth full of nuggets, “They say that the human species lives too long for its sole goal to be reproduction, and yet not long enough for their goal to be the perusal of knowledge. My form is a conundrum, for I am older then I was, but will be younger then I will ever be, with an unknown lifespan.” He sips at his apple juice. 

Netero lifts his breakfast sandwich, “that was deep.” 

Zeno closes his eyes and slams a hand down onto the table, “I wasn’t asking about any of your philosophical views! I want to know why you called me out of the comfort of my beach side summer home in Japon in order to spend time on a luxury cruise flight to be here. What was so important that you disrupted my break? And why is that here? Didn’t he almost kill you?”

Meruem eyes Zeno for a moment, “You are the dragon nen user from East Gorteau...your nen was familiar, but excuse the fact I did not recall you by face. Most humans tend to look the same.” 

“Correct...I am he. And you are with us because?” 

“Netero had beckoned me to this location. I too am not aware of its cause, although I do feel that I need to make amends, so I came.”

“How...generous…” Zeno looks at a dire faced Netero, “Well? What’s the problem? Another mass genocide you want me to be involved in as another personal favour, seeing how we both know you can not afford my rates.” 

“That is harsh, but true.” Netero nods gravely, placing his sandwich down and interlocking his fingers so he could look at both of his guests in turn. “I have called you both here for a specific reason, because like before, I once again encounter an enemy I can not face on my own. This is no simple feat, and I came to you Zeno, for your ability, and to you Meruem, for your strength. Who else could I trust for such an important mission? The zodiacs wouldn’t understand...so I have taken matters into my own hands.” 

Zeno’s back straightens, and even Meruem has been swept up into Netero’s speech, the man's charisma has always been his strong point. Isaac Netero was not someone who could simply rely on luck to attract people into his following. Most of his influence was because of his hard work, and the fact that he was reliable as well as one of Yorknew’s largest fools, but perhaps that was Zeno’s bias. 

Meruem’s tail squeaks as it moves against the plastic booth. “What do you require from us?” 

Netero reaches a hand out and grabs his coffee gently, a sad smile on his face, “We have another war to fight, and this time, it will only be us three.”

Zeno exhales and lifts his coffee to his lips, chugging the dark beverage before setting the cup down delicately. “Fine, you have my interest. What’s the task?” 

Netero looks at Zeno with relief, “I’m glad. So you both accept to go to battle with me? We may not survive.” 

“You think the thought of death scares me? Don’t be ignorant.” Zeno smirks. 

Meruem nods his head, “I have confidence in my own abilities. I will help you in this notable cause.”

Netero stands, “Then together we’re going to reap victory. Let's go.”

Meruem shoves a final nugget into his mouth, “Now?”

Zeno shakes his head, “I’m impressed how prompt you are. This is unlike you. Do we need a dragon for transportation?”

Netero shoves his hands into his pocket and moves out of the booth, “no. Just follow me.”

The trio grab their garbage and dispose of it before entering the streets of Yorknew. Meruem sips at his juice as Netero leads him and Zeno down dark alleyways and side streets, the click clack of Netero’s shoes getting quicker as they leave the zones owned by the mafia and enter the parts of Yorknew that can be considered dead zones. The lights dull and there are more people lingering on street corners, with loud music blaring and fruity scented clouds lingering in the air. 

Netero stops in front of an industrial building where the doors are eight feet and bolted shut. Heavy to those who were of average build and lacked nen. Obviously not an issue for any of the three here. With a shove the door flies open, and after a moment lights flicker from the ceiling, showing off empty lanes, and poor patterned carpeting. In the back of the warehouse is an empty section lit with a single lamp with a man sitting in a plastic chair with his feet up on a counter. 

Upon closer inspection, Zeno could see that the floor was divided on one side, with machinery placed in rows, as well as there being racks with heavy balls. The man behind the counter, or rather a bar that had not only drinks but a variety of footwear, was in in flip flops and flannel. He glances up from the magazine he was reading and lifts a hand, “Yo, Netty.”

Netero lifts his as well, “Hows the ice and rug?”

“Looking good. Just greased them not too long ago.” 

“Net...ty…” Meruem repeats slowly. 

Focusing on the man, Zeno recognizes him as one of the shadow beasts. Not that he had met him personally, but he had killed the don’s, and he knew that this man was the only remaining shadow beast, although now nen-less, seeing how the leader of the Phantom Troupe had relieved the man of his iconic ability to use on Zeno himself. 

“Been a while, geezer. What happened to the other two you usually work with?” Owl asks, his voice a mix between something sly, and something apathetic. 

“They were called away for duty, but I’ve managed to find two individuals willing to help out the cause.” Netero lifts a hand, “Zeno and Meruem are willing to take part in all of this.”

“So what should we do first?” Zeno asks, “Why are we here? Is Fukuro going to provide us with intel? Are the mafia involved in this war? Should I call my son for added support?” 

Owl closes the magazine, not following the conversation in the slightest. “Ugh, first off spiky, the names Owl. Second off, what war? Am I missing something or what?”

Netero makes a small ‘meh’ gesture with his hand, “I guess you could say I was vague.”

Meruem tosses the empty juice bottle into the trash, “Very vague.” 

“Is this a bowling alley?” Zeno chimes in, having taken notice of the screens attached to the ceiling and the slick smell of oil.

Owl lowers his sunglasses, which Meruem found absolutely absurd considering it was dark in the dingy warehouse. “So yea, you deal with this, I’ll be over here when ya want me to turn the hardware on.” 

“Explain.” Zeno bites. 

Netero whips around and offers a goofy grin, his eyes blazing with excitement. “Technically I wasn’t lying when I said it was war, but on a different caliber. Essentially, you both have agreed to help me win the most intense, notable, grand, extravagant tournament ever to occur.”

“Those are synonyms,” Meruem quibs, “also, bowling is...new to me. Does it involve torture of any sort? Do the losers of this tournament die in a battle royale-esque event?” 

Zeno feels his blood simmer, “I didn’t agree to bowling in the Dark Continent Tournament, Netero. I didn’t accept it when you asked the first time, and I don't accept it now. Count me out of this game.”

“Technically ya did.” Netero points a finger, “I heard you. Right Meruem?” 

Meruem perks up, “However, despite your displeasure Zeno, we did agree to provide him with aide. And...I do like games.”

Zeno gives a thumbs down, “I’m not going to do it.”

“But it’ll impress women!” Netero shouts. 

“I’m not going to do it.”

“But it’ll impress me?”

Zeno shakes his head, and Netero decides ignoring him is the best choice of action. 

“Yea well ain’t that too bad. Owl, get this guy a size six shoe. Meruem, what size do you wear?” 

It seemed their fate had been decided by Netero himself. Zeno sighs, knowing he wasn’t going to get out of this one. 

Meruem glances down to his feet. “I don’t wear shoes.”

“Get him size five.” Netero shrugs. 

Owl nods his head, “I’ll get the lanes set up while I’m at it. Ya better win this thing, Netty.”

“With a team like this how could we fail?”

Zeno sighs as he slumps into a neon orange stool, realizing that this warehouse was almost identical to one of the older Bowlarama’s that used to exist in yorknew, before being replaced with fighting arenas. No one was interested in throwing weighted balls anymore, not when they could take quick blimp ride to Padokia continent to get tickets to a match in Heavens Arena. He found it odd that Netero would want to be part of something so archaic. 

“What happened to Wilhelm and the riddler.” Zeno questions, referring to the two elders who Zeno knew to be Netero’s previous bowling partners. 

Netero takes a seat beside Zeno, crossing his arms. “Well, at the moment they weren't able to be part of this upcoming match, seeing how the Hunter Exam is beginning. Helm has the responsibility of screening the candidates and bringing them to the Yorkian continent, while Granny has to offer the riddle challenge...I told them I could replace them with someone else, but they were adamant to their responsibilities.” 

Zeno’s eye twitches, “You know that woman is younger than you, right?”

Netero offers a smirk, “Yea well, she doesn’t look like it.”

“Savage.”

“Here are your shoes.” Owl enters the conversation, dropping three pairs onto the floor. “So this tournament lets you have five players, yeah? So I’m guessing I gotta sign these guys as the final two.”

Netero jumps down and tosses off his wooden shoes, sliding on the green and red patchwork footwear. “Well, it’s a four round tournament, and we already won the first two games against nobodies, but this next one well...it’s going to be intense.”

Before Meruem can open his mouth to ask for more details, the neon lights around the television screens jerk to life, and numbers fill the board. The lanes arms start to move as pins are placed onto the end of long wooden pathways as colours from automatic lights shimmer and rotate against a disco ball, making the warehouse look as if it was caught into the middle of a rave. At the same moment vaporwave blares from speakers, and Owl curses as he runs to the counter so he could turn it down. 

“Come on, put on that one song I like.” Netero cheers, “The one that makes me feel nostalgic.” 

Owl peers up from the counter, “you mean fucking Bae City Rollaz?”

“You know it.”

“Netero, I’m embarrassed to know you.” Zeno admits. 

“Because you can’t handle all this.” Netero smirks. 

“You’re probably right about that.”

Meruem inches his foot into a shoe, not really making a move to tie his laces, or realizing that there was a designated shoe for each foot. Netero sighs and bends down, forcing Meruem to switch his shoes to opposite feet as he teaches him how to tie them. “For the actual game we’re going to have to invest in getting you some clothes so you’re not so...out in the open.”

“I am wearing a vest, so I could hardly call myself out in the open.”

“Just trust me on this. Netty knows best, alright?” 

“I will keep that in mind,” Meruem nods, as he beckons to the bowling lane that Owl has turned on behind them.

"Does this game come equipped with a manual. I would like to familiarize myself with the rules before attempting to play.”

Netero points at Owl, “You heard the Chimera.”

Owl purses his lips as he fiddles with his golden necklace, “yea about that, I spilled red bull and used the manual to clean it, since ya know, I didn’t think people needed a manual in order to bowl. Why don’t you just teach the guy quick. Ya know, he already has four fingers so he’s golden.” 

Netero waves it off, “that’s fine, that’s fine. I wouldda summarized it anyways. Plus, Zeno here could probably use the recap, couldn’t you old man?”

Zeno bristles, his nen cackling, “Netero you’re the oldest one here.”

“Still young at heart, baby!”

Owl lifts a hand and Netero high fives it in turn. “Alright Net, do what ya need to do. If ya need me just holler.” 

Netero nods and leads the two down the single step so that the three could stand amongst the bowling alley, surrounded by printed chairs, clunky devices that told the score, and the smell of freshly oiled hardwood. 

“Alright, where to start.” Netero wonders to himself as Zeno moves to the bowling balls, testing their weight to find the one that would eventually become his. Netero snaps his fingers, “First off, names. Each player gets their own game name, and it’s what people will know you by. My name has already been decided, so I’ll put it in. Whatever you decide, remember that as soon as it’s added it can’t be changed.”

Netero types in his name, the word NETERYO appearing as the first bowler in the list on the screen. Zeno isn’t even surprised anymore. 

“Just put Zoldyck for mine. I’m sure it’ll be enough.”  
Netero nods and types, hitting enter. When Zeno looks up, he scowls, seeing Z-DYCK instead. 

“What about you Meruem?”

The chimera rubs his chin tentatively, “Am I unable to put my name?”

“Only narcissists put their real name. How about something you like instead?” 

Meruem considers. “Gungi?”

A shake of the head from Netero. 

“Komugi?”

“Ay, isn’t that the cute little girlfriend you have. You should bring her to a game. She’d probably love to see you destroy the competition, Netty style. So come on, what's a thing you like that’s gonna represent you? How about king? Or noodle tail.”

“I could, however she is blind. But it would be comforting to have her there.” Meruem lowers his hand, “Does...Capri sun suffice?”

“Oh, my god.” Zeno exhales as Netero types quickly, the name KINGCAPRI filling the third and final spot. 

“Owl, as an event facilitator, all bowling training sessions, meetings, and group changes shall be validated and documented by one of the designated.” Netero says outloud, “hereby, I Netero accept you, Z-Dyck, and you King Capri into my team! Owl, you got that?”

“Yeah, yeah, Neteryo. You got the Fun Fun stamp of approval.” 

Zeno ignores the two, and faces Netero seriously. “I know it’s foolish of me to ask, but I’m going to anyways…So what’s our group name?"

"Team Netero"

"Definitely not." Zeno shoots down. “No one would agree to that. No one.” 

“Yea, no, Granny and Wilhelm said no to it too, even though I think it’s a great name. But we’re known as Team Ojiisan. Got a nice ring to it, don’t it.”

Zeno looks over to Owl for confirmation, and gets thumbs up in response. A true nightmare. Isaac Netero was a man in his own world, that was for sure. Meruem probably had the best poker face out of all of them, not even slightly appalled at anything the man had done. Then again, Meruem could hardly be considered a normal, run of the mill case. 

“Does one...destroy the large spheres in order to seize victory?” Meruem ponders, having picked up a neon green ball with a six on it. “How light.” 

“Well, anything under 10 pounds is usually a bowling ball a child would use, or ya know, grumps like Zeno here. Average adults usually go around fourteen pounds. Men like me? Twenty pounds gives me the perfect spin.” 

“I do not believe they make a ball that is the weight I can lift comfortably...especially I can lift a number that exceeds well into the thousands.” Meruem’s nen spikes, and the room feels heavy, as if it was filled with water.

Netero and Zeno have their nen come up as a defensive shield, but Owl falls under the full blow, his skin breaking out in cold sweat as he gasps for breath, feeling his lungs burn with a pressure he can’t shove off his chest. 

“Meruem, you can’t use your nen in the tournament. They place seals on you so it’s down to actual ability, or ya know, we would win in a heartbeat.” 

“Preach.” Zeno lifts a hand, nodding in understanding as he picks up a custom made ball in neon blue. Eighteen pounds. 

Netty grabs his in green, the ball having an N on it in electric yellow. Twenty pounds. 

Meruem moves through the row of balls sitting on racks and stops an a ball that is opal in colour, almost translucent. It reminds him of Komugi’s eyes, so he chooses the ball for his own. Sixteen pounds. 

“So how does one play?” Meruem inquiries, holding the ball as one would hold an orange. 

Zeno shakes his head, “Seems like we have a lot of basics to cover.”

An understatement, of course. Zeno and Netero had probably spent close to an hour showing Meruem how to insert his fingers (although with only four it was a challenge to think how it would work) into the holes. Then they moved to trying to teach him the goal of the game, which was basically knocking down the pins at the end of the lane. 

“You move your arm back and throw it-”

“Not that aggressively! Pretend the ball is like a fine woman-”

“You need to flick the wrist! Spin it!”

“Think like the ball. Feel like the ball. Treat the ball the way it deserves to be treated.” 

“And don’t listen to Netero!”

“Wrong. Listen to me, I know all.” Netero places his hands together, ignoring Meruem’s recent attempt of throwing the ball, slamming it right into the gutter with such force that the plastic was dented where it had impacted. Owl wasn’t impressed, especially if he had to rely on Netero to pay for the damages. The man hadn’t even paid his bar tab. 

Zeno shakes his head as he glares, “Why are you so bad at this? I thought you were proficient in hand eye coordination.” 

Meruem presses his tail tight to his back, resisting the urge to wave it in a show of his own annoyance. 

“Controlling my nen is an issue, as well as not exactly understanding the spin of the ball in relation to the angle needed to hit the pins...there is also the issue of the ball losing momentum quarterly when at the end of the lane...I assumed that I needed more force for continued rotation.” 

Squinting, Zeno eye’s the hardwood, before shaking his head. “So you’re one of those ‘I needs to know everything’ types. How...annoying. Alright, the reason you can’t get a decent spin is because you aren't taking into consideration that the oil on the lane stops halfway. Think of the middle of the lane as being blocked. Basically, it means that the more balls we throw through the center, the less oil there is, and the more friction that occurs towards the end of the throw, giving the ball its curve. So when you’re throwing it, don’t hit the outer ends because they’re still greased, so you want a maximum projectile that’s about 24 degrees from center, anything over 45 degrees will result in a decrease of velocity and an increase in heat that will devalue the rotation. To get an ideal spin you want the ball to go eighteen mph minimum, and no more than thirty or you risk the g force and acceleration of exceeding 28.9682 Km per hour, which means that you need to steady your nen to get a rate of 958.9 millimeters per second, of course squared, or in layman's terms, 95.8 centimeters per second squared, which is better known as Gal. Does that help?”

Meruem rubs his mouth in mild confusion, dissecting Zeno’s analysis. “I...see”

Netero looks between the two, grimacing at Zeno’s explanation. “That was really shity, you nerd.”

“Well how the hell do you explain bowling to an ant.” Zeno snaps. 

Netero looks at Meruem seriously, “You like that boardgame right? Checkers?”

“Gungi.” Meruem corrects. 

Netero pulls out his smartphone and lifts a finger, motioning for them to wait for one second. Meruem and Zeno stand patiently, both simmering as Netero takes his time before he nods. “Alright so, in bowling, you would be the black piece, and the pins would be white. In order to capture the lanes commander you need to tower all ten pieces. However, they can only be dual towers, and the enemy is composed of fortresses and catapults. Once ceased they automatically become lances, which can be destroyed by a single commander. Tier one spy is the most difficult combination to hit, in addition to a tier 2 bow. Ideally, the best strategy is to aim for a tier 1 pike and aim a solid victory. You will only receive 2 chances to use your commander to capture in a single turn. How's that? Make more sense." 

Meruem nods enthusiastically, "Gold pawn formation also works, if I follow this logic, as opposed to the wild possibilities of a tier 1 dragon king."

Netero scrolls down on his Gungi for dummies guide and nods, "hell yea."

Zeno takes a heavy seat on one of the chairs, not understanding jack shit of this conversation. "What the hell are you two going on about?"

"It's a gungi thing," Netero and Meruem suddenly say, "you wouldn't understand."

"You're damn right I wouldn't understand," Zeno sneers, before his lips pull up into a slight smirk, "you dead wood." 

A gasp escapes Netero as he glares at Zeno. "How dare you?"

Meruem looks between the two, who are both sharing a heated staredown that he doesn't want to be a part of. 

"You heard me." Zeno says without remorse.

Owl covers his mouth as he watches the two from behind the counter, eyes wide. In a second Meruem appears beside the man, perched on top of the counter, staring down at Owl menacingly. 

"Holy fuck-"

"Please translate." Meruem asks. 

Owl blinks back his surprise and clears his throat. "Ah, yea...sure...dead wood is one of the harshest bowling insults. Ya know sometimes how a pin falls and it doesn't get swept up and just stays in the lane and gets in the way? Basically what Z-Dyck just called Netty."  
"The only dead wood around here is the one below your belt," Netero snaps back, his own brand of smug shown on his face. 

"Oh spare me the overused jokes, how about you try going bland once in your life you unoriginal weeb." Zeno tsks, his hands clasping behind his back. "Nico? Really?" 

"Netty Netty neeee.” Netero makes a heart with his hands over his chest, “you have no idea what you're talking about. And, i just decided this will be our FLO. Before every game we’ll say it.”

"Pretty sure that's not going to happen." Zeno clicks his tongue, crossing one leg over the other as he positions himself more comfortably in his chair. 

"Go...bland?" Meruem repeats. 

"Slang for starting a new game." Owl whispers to him. "Basically be original."

"Yea right, coming from the field goal king." Netero raises his voice, "you can barely control your rotation, you geezer." 

Zeno doesn't even seem phased. 

Meruem slides off the counter and shakes his head, "so hostile..."

Owl winces. "Well people who tend to get field goals end up being disliked. Basically that's because they missed a 7 - 10 shot and the ball rolls down the middle. The two pins on the end are basically the most intense split to hit. Its hella embarrassing to see happen." 

“How can I take anything seriously from you?” The Zoldyck runs a hand through his hair, realizing that bantering with Netero could literally go on all night at this rate. 

“How about you stop sounding like a 1-5-8-9 and maybe listen to me, your team captain.” Netero prompts as he points at the screen, “top one spot, thats me.” 

Zeno’s mouth presses into a tight line, “at this rate i’m going to make you into a 5-8-9.”

Netero pales slightly, and Owl shivers at the threat.  
Meruem grabs Owl’s arm, shaking him to reveal the part of the conversation he was missing out on .

Owl smacks a hand onto the counter, “That’s harsh as hell. The way the pins are set up, 1-5-8-9 when left after two shots right in the middle, the shake gives the name cock and balls-”

“Hey! Don’t tell the kid that!” Zeno and Netero shout together, with Netero going as far as tossing a bowling shoe at the man, which he dodges barely. 

Meruem, realizing now that pins that were left on the floor were able to make shapes nods his head in understanding. It was like a new world of possibility was being put before him. 

“In that case, I am a 4-5-6-8-9.”

Owl, Zeno, and Netero halt for a moment to stare at the chimera, each with different levels of shock and horror on their face. 

“I...mean...I guess?” Netty squints. 

Zeno looks away, “I didn’t want to know.”

Owl clears his throat and resists the urge to ask more about the nature of meruem’s kind. 

Meruem makes a motion with his finger, his nen appearing as five dots before them as he connects them. “See, when linked the form they take is an M. For Meruem.”

“Oh thank god.” Zeno breathes out in relief, finding himself foolish for even considering the chimera had meant anything else. 

Netero bursts out laughing, “gave me a scare there brat!” 

“Like hell he did…” Owl shakes his head, pushing his glasses back up his nose. 

"Tomorrow we'll meet here again to practice...and I'll teach you some Netty-only tricks of the trade."

Zeno looks horrified, and raises a hand to gesture to the ex shadow beast. “Give me a triple triple.” 

Owl hoots in amusement and cracks open a bottle of vodka. “Didn't think you would crack this early. It hasn't even been two hours yet.” 

Netero spins a bowling ball on his finger, watching with a tentative smirk. Even he knew that he was pressing all of the right buttons on the man, who was easy to annoy if you knew how to engage him. “Typical for a cranker to be cranky.” 

“Don’t call me that. I don’t even throw the ball with that much force anymore…”

“What, trying to be a stroker like me?” Netero purrs, “a smooth throw with a smooth release. I could teach you how.” 

Meruem and Owl return to the floor, Owl passing Zeno the shot as Meruem grabs a ball with his tail, the spike piercing through the center as if it was spearing a marshmallow. Meruem looks up at the two older men in excitement, “Please teach me how to stroke.” 

Zeno chokes on his shot. 

Netero lets out a laugh. “I’d love to know what kind of style you got kid, although something tells me that you’re going to be a sandbagger. Yea know, rolls low scores early on to give people the impression that you're terrible with a low score average, and then blow the competition away with backdoor strikes. Basically, as if you have a horseshoe up your ass as you hit shots that are nearly impossible.”

“That sounds...quite unpleasant...So when exactly the next game?” Meruem asks, still swinging the fifteen pound ball on his tail, having forgotten it was still attached after he had stabbed it. 

Netero glances at the wall where a pin up girl calendar sits and scratches his head. “Well, It’s technically Thursday morning right now, so give or take three days.”

“Sunday!” Zeno gawks. “Could you not have asked us to take part in this charade a little sooner?” 

“Did I know that Wilhelm and Granny were going to bow out? No, no I didn’t Zeno, so here we are. Tomorrow night let’s meet here at ten pm, train some, and then go scope out the competition. Their match is going to be at one am so it’ll be a good time to show the kid what a real game is like. Plus, this is the only official way to see who gets to be on the vessel that takes us to the Dark Continent.”

“And who exactly are we going up against?” Zeno groans, remembering how the whispers of the dark continent vessel had gone around, and how Zeno had been offered a pass to the VIP section as long as he had wanted to accept it. Which he didn’t. He knew there were all kinds of things in DC that he was not in the mood to deal with. He had theories of those who had been there in the past, even in his own family, and believed it would cause nothing more than unnecessary trouble. 

Netero runs a hand through his beard, “Most likely the next round will be led by a team of those who have ulterior motives...like my son, and my past advisor Pariston.” He glances towards the door with a twinkle in his eye, “Who has been listening in to our conversation for quite some time now.”

In a second Meruem’s body flickers as his nen covers the entire building, feeling the small blip of someone's residual nen flickering in the background before fading completely. “Someone was here.” 

Zeno looks at Owl, “another shot...rather a glass…” he shakes his head, “So not only is your weird rat now stalking us, but did you say your son?” 

Netero nods gravely, “seems like he’s finally coming back. And...you want to know who else is in the competition? Tserriednich Hui Guo Rou. The fourth prince.”

“The body part stealer!” Zeno snaps. 

“His bowling ball is probably made out of human bone.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it. That guy’s a freak.”

“Don’t be such a 5-7-10, you sour apple” Netero points a finger, “it isn’t like we’re going to lose to any of these kids. Although, Zeno, you do look rusty.”

“I assure you I can bowl just fine.”

Netero stands tall, or as tall as a man of his disposition can stand at five foot nothing. 

“Netty 200.”

Meruem's eyes glance up from the floor and even Owl’s full attention is now on the trio rather than his nat geographic magazine. 

Zeno sighs dramatically, “How did I know you were going to say that. You can't challenge something like that so early on...the brat hasn't even played a game yet."

"Netty 200." Netero says again, more forcefully.

“Netero...your age is...impressive.” Meruem nods in slight awe. "I did not think Humans could exceed such a lifespan."

Netero closes his eyes, “I ain’t that old yet kid. No, Netero 200 is a game where we bowl ten frames and aim for a perfect score of 200. If you go over you have to buy dinner. A perfect game is 300. Netty 200 is better than that." 

“How about this game determines who the anchor is instead?" Zeno ponders, standing in front of the lane they were sure to use, eyeing the pins and suppressing his nen. 

"The anchor is the best player on the team....they usually bowl last and win through point difference." Owl waves a hand, "not a spot people are willing to give up. They also happen to be the coolest under pressure."

Meruem perks up, "considering my body temperature is the coolest perhaps i should claim that role." 

"No way am i going to give it up." Netero shouts. "Because the anchor is mine. But sure, i'll humour you both and allow the winner to be the anchor on our team...well only for the next match that is." 

"You doing a round five seven beer frame?" Owl asks, setting up the scoreboard and starting the machine, the pin arm coming to life. "Ya know, the least strikes in round to seven means you pay for drinks."

“Of course we are,” Netero smirks, “or juice for the kid.”  
Meruem bristles, “Only apple juice however. Or Capri-sun.”

Netero rolls his eyes, “Some of us have real problems.”  
Meruem chuckles himself, “In that case I shall win, and take the anchor role along with my juice.”

Zeno cracks his neck as he observes the lane, seeing the marks of practice over the surface after who knows how many shots, games, and spins had gone on here. Thinking about the hell of a tournament that was soon to come, Zeno couldn’t afford to lose, not when his dignity and pride as a Zoldyck, an Netero’s rival, was on the line. 

“You two ready, or am I going to have to play on my own?”

Netero laughs, his ball already in his hands, “I’m gonna give you a run for your money. See you at 200.”

Owl shakes his head and dims the lights on every lane but there’s, a sudden electricity of sparking through the room with the bitter smell of competition. 

As the lane arm lifts, glimmering white pins with signature black sunglasses painted onto their porcelain nen infused bodies gleam under multicoloured lights.  
Owl clears his throat, not having been this excited to see a practice game in a long time. 

“Under the jurisdiction of the Underground Bowling Board of Professional Competition and its Establishment, the first official practice of Team Ojiisan featuring new player's Z-Dyck and KingCapri begins!”


End file.
